Killing Time
by Rach L
Summary: "There was a reason I joined the Air Force. The weirdest thing is, I just can't remember what it was."


Killing Time  
by Rach L.  
rach_jiwon@hotmail.com  
  
Rate: PG-13  
Category: Action. Angst. Jack POV.  
Season/Spoiler: Season four.  
Summary: "There was a reason I joined the Air Force. The weirdest thing is, I just can't remember what it was."  
Disclaimer: Jack and the co. don't belong to me. It's a good thing.  
Note: I wrote a Jack story. Yes, weirder things have happened. Lots of thanks to the friends who made the story actually readable. And Ankh, you're my goddess. ;)  
  
***  
  
There was a reason I joined the Air Force. The weirdest thing is, I just can't remember what it was.   
  
Maybe I thought I could be a hero or save the world, something like that. I did have ideals once. I guess you can't decide to stick to this particular occupation after several broken ribs, blown kneecaps, and an Iraq prison without some sort of an idealism, a belief system, or even faith, if you will. Of course, this idealism of mine has gone through too many severe changes after the aforementioned incidents to the point that I can no longer remember what the original ideal was--probably along the line of 'Protect the Innocents, Be the Good Guy, and Kick the Bad Asses'--but I had it, and everything else was ignored. For a long time, that was the only thing I had.   
  
At some point, though, it began to change.  
  
And the reason behind this sudden philosophical crap is? I'm not having a very good day.  
  
"Well, this is...swell."  
  
My left leg's killing me. Literally. I really would like to shift the other leg just a little and make myself comfortable in this position, but I can't take my eyes off the Jaffa about four feet in front of me, nor move the M-16 I'm pointing at him, since he's pointing his big bad pointy staff weapon at *me*.  
  
Yeah, this is swell.  
  
See, a mission gone wrong is a given where Goa'ulds are involved, because it *always* goes wrong with those ghouls. Okay, so it becomes a little bit more of a pain in the ass, but nothing out of the ordinary, because any way you play it, everything comes down to those snake bastards. If it's a case of snake-worshipers who need incredibly lots of convincing that the Goa'ulds are *not* the Gods, then it just means I get to suffer from the special migraine induced by listening to long, boring lectures from Daniel, but hey, I've come to accept it as my fate, karma, a part of the job I hate. And I have to admit, the lectures usually work. Way to go, Danny.  
  
However, when you get a mission that combines the Goa'ulds *with* the snake-worshipers, who are only 'misled', well, that's when the migraine and the pain in the ass become something more. And today's case was classic. We had those *supposedly* innocent natives trying to kill us with funny looking weapons, combined with the power of well-trained Jaffa who were obviously ordered to kill anyone wearing Tau'ri uniforms. Daniel was trying freakin' hard to persuade me not to shoot back because they were victims too, Carter was unable to decide between her soldier side and more humane side when confronted with the said natives, and Teal'c was only waiting for me to give the order, waiting for *me* to make the decision.  
  
So, I'd signaled to run for our lives against my better judgment. The only problem with that scenario was, between all that running and avoiding getting shot, I got separated from the group and chased by a Jaffa. I should think that it was actually going pretty well, by our usual standard of 'the mission going well', except for the part that the snakehead and I ended up in hand to hand combat, which resulted in me getting shot in my left thigh, and the Jaffa on his lower chest. Then, we both lost our footing and rolled off a small cliff together, side by side. Peachy.  
  
So that explains the current stand-off, with me pointing my M-16 at a Jaffa, and he aiming his staff weapon at me, both of us lying flat on our stomachs in the dark shadow between the rock cliff and overgrown trees, bleeding significant amounts, and non-too-happy.  
  
Have I mentioned that it sucks to be me?  
  
Okay, okay, now. Assessing the situation. First, the Jaffa. This is trouble. I don't think I can blow his head off. If I make the slightest move, he'll shoot, I'll shoot, and we'll both die. I know that, he knows that, and therefore, we're at a stalemate. Not good.  
  
Less important, but another equally bothersome trouble - think I broke my kneecap. Meaning I can't move. Oh hell. Fraiser's gonna be all over me for this one. Don't think climbing back up would be a good idea now, even ignoring the fact that I can't, not before I somehow get rid of the snakehead in full-armor minus the helmet glaring at me with his weapon. I had my hopes for the radio...except it's broken too. Grrrreat.  
  
Think, Jack, think. I've been in this sort of situations for at least a hundred times in my memory. Gotta have one of those instinctive survival contingency plans in my head somewhere. What other options are there?  
  
....  
  
A mind gone blank has to be one of the signs that I'm losing it, physically and mentally.  
  
Alright. Pessimism equals bad. So think more. Think.  
  
Maybe I can shout, yell, or scream until someone comes along...  
  
Okay, that's out. I don't know who I'd see first, the big, friendly face of Teal'c's, or not-so-friendly faces of enemy Jaffa. The Jaffa here must've figured out too that if my cavalry comes first, he's as good as dead. So he doesn't start yelling, and by mutual agreement we keep our mouths shut.  
  
There's nothing I wouldn't give to hear Teal'c's low growl right about now. I swear, I will not threaten to take Teal'c fishing ever again...  
  
So the last option I have would be...uh, waiting. And praying. And since God and I have a very respectable relationship--I tell Him to go screw Himself, and His only rebuttal is to send more crap raining on my parade--I can guess this one will turn out to be just as good as the usual huge, honkin' disaster.  
  
Think the friendly Jaffa and I have been staring at each other for at least five minutes like this. Enough already. My arms are cramping, my chest hurts, and short branches from the trees are beginning to dig through my shirt and my legs... Not thinking about my leg now. Aw, hell. If we can't shoot each other without getting killed, then why not just...?  
  
"Okay, big fella," I whistle, and he almost jumps. "See? I'm lowering my weapon here. Why don't you...uh, lower yours?"  
  
Not that I'm so big on trusting Jaffa, but I really don't have the energy to keep up with this whole staring thing right now, and I bet he doesn't either. So, a truce.  
  
The Jaffa glares at me doubtfully, but thank God, he's as much in pain as I am. (A chest wound, but not that fatal. Damn. My aim's been going down the crapper lately. Should've taken Ferretti's offer on friendly matches.) So after a minute or so of indecision, he very carefully puts down his weapon, not taking his eyes off from mine. He then leans against the rock behind him, but not before making sure the staff weapon would be in his hand in a matter of a microsecond. I relax the tiniest bit, and sit up at an excruciatingly slow rate. Just to make sure the Jaffa wouldn't change his mind.  
  
It's not a good idea, the logical side of my brain (if there's such a thing) screams. Should kill the bastard when I have a chance! But contrary to popular belief, I have no immediate death wish. And to my surprise, the Jaffa doesn't seem keen to opt for the Very Dead Land either. Aren't they supposed to have some sort of loyalty code or something, die before making a truce with a Tau'ri? Should make a note to ask Teal'c about that. But this Jaffa doesn't want to take the chance.  
  
It's simply really, I guess. When it comes down to it, we both don't want to die. Okay, so I *know* that we *could* die in a few seconds, if either of us gets the chance to blow a hole the size of Oklahoma in the other's head, or if some friendlies or unfriendlies decides to appear. Okay, I *know* that. But I guess it's impossible not to try avoiding the inevitable till the last moment.  
  
That's the survival instinct for you.  
  
It suddenly strikes me that I'd better stop the bleeding, if I really want to stay alive long enough for Fraiser and my team to bitch at me for screwing up. But that means both of my hands will be occupied, and that is *so* not a good idea. So I stay still, bleeding my life away. I don't know how long I can stay like this without totally losing my mind, or this fragile truce.  
  
I'm thinking that by now my team should know I'm not at the 'Gate, that I won't be for quite a while. They should begin to worry now, unless...unless they didn't make it.  
  
No unless. No way in hell are they.... They made it, and they're looking for me, period. No one kills my team while I'm still alive and I have *no* intention of dying here.  
  
Okay, so, back to waiting. Waiting. Not fun. I hate waiting. But beggars can't be...  
  
This is *so* much fun.  
  
It's getting dark, the grass I'm sitting on is freakin' wet and cold, the sharp edges of the rock I'm leaning on is pressing onto my back. Cramping. Fun. Throbbing. Fun. Stomach's growling as if on a cue. Ugh, shouldn't have done that, because now I'm--  
  
Hungry. Huuungry. Hung-ry. Hungry, hungry, hungry. Something about my mind that I've learned a long ago is that it's extremely persistent. I've also learned to suppress the urges. Okay, so 'learned' is not exactly the right word, because it was more like forced upon from experience. Whatever, I'm above and beyond hunger. Above and beyond.  
  
Not hungry.  
  
You are.  
  
Am not.  
  
You are.  
  
Am not.  
  
You *are*!  
  
Aw, shuddap!  
  
Why does my subconscious voice just *have* to sound like Daniel? Daniel. Daniel and food. Wait, wait, wait! Ah-ha-ha! I remember! I have three snickers in the pocket, the ones I confiscated from Daniel. Yeeeessss!  
  
Before I think about what I'm doing, I reach for my pocket with my free hand, take one out, unwrap it, and yes, god, yes. This is good. I'm a fatty meat steak kinda guy, but this ain't half bad. Now I see the reason Daniel's insanely crazy about chocolate. This is a 'good stuff', to quote Martha Stewart.  
  
When I'm half way through shoving it down my throat, I realize two things: reaching into my pocket was a really bad move that could have gotten my head blown off and what the *hell* was I thinking; and the Jaffa's been staring at me all the while with the look of pure envy on his face instead of shooting at me. How...odd. I didn't have a chance to really look at his face before (since I was busy trying to blow off his head, which is a valid reason), and now I see he's fairly young with big blue eyes that remind me of Daniel's and sandy brown hair.  
  
And since he didn't kill me when he had a chance, and out of pure human goodness, I decide to be nice.  
  
Daniel, ever the anthropologist, explained it to me once that the best way to communicate with someone from another culture is to find something we both share. At this point, I can safely assume it's hunger. Also he said something about chocolate bars and meeting father-in-laws and making friends with young Unas. So, although it kills me to share my food with a snakehead, I slowly put one between us, and demonstrate how to unwrap it and chew.  
  
He obviously trusts me just as much as I trust him, but his hunger gets the better of him and almost throws himself on the chocolate bar. He doesn't look that scary now. *Not* that I'm ever scared of Jaffa, but he looks a little pathetic. Probably just as pathetic as I look at this point.  
  
He glances at me between bites, but he doesn't care whether I shoot him or not right now. And I decide not to, and concentrate on my quickly disappearing chocolate bar.  
  
This is not good, because I just realized that I missed my chance to stay here by myself, relatively Jaffa-free, because I thought I didn't want to shoot the guy who was just...hungry.  
  
This is not, I repeat, *not* a guy. This is a Jaffa. Okay, he's young, barely a kid...  
  
Okay, it bugs me a little that this thing, uh, boy, is somebody's son, a loved one. A loved one. Someone's son. Like Charlie.  
  
Don't go there. Think something else.  
  
How much time has passed? By now they really should've noticed I'm in trouble and begun searching. If not, they're *so* gonna be dragged to the next five hockey games in a row. But, uh, point: This is a big, wide, and definitely unknown forest to them, and to find me here, lying, bleeding to dead as quiet as a mouse, would be...difficult.  
  
You'd *think* I'd be used to this crap by now, this anxiety, this terror, because it's my job, my life. Nope, not really. Those nasty emotions are always there in the nice little rooms in the back of my mind, but used to them? No. I really, really don't like this.  
  
"Tsh alic romei cha...shalrue juh she yo.." Eh what? Huh, okay, the Jaffa's mumbling something. He's finished with his chocolate, and he's now whispering something to himself...to me?   
  
"Juck goh ship ji aha a--"   
  
What the hell? He's in pure terror now, and he's obviously speaking in his mother tongue. Crap. Daniel always told me about the importance of learning Goa'uld and the technical advantage bullshit that we can gain from actually knowing the language, but nooo, did I listen? Do I ever? Not that I'm that eager to learn anything about the snake bastards, but it would've been a bit of help right now. Hell, this may not even be Goa'uld. Who knows what planet this kid was taken from? What language he spoke with his family before the Goa'uld did...*that* to him?  
  
He's teary. There's nothing more embarrassing than watching a grown-up cry, but this Jaffa...this boy...he's sobbing because he's...scared. Of death.  
  
Join the club, pal.  
  
And the boy's suffering, too. Guess I was wrong. I'm not that rusty, and my aim is perfectly fine. No, not perfectly, because it were, I would've killed him in the first place. The chest wound is hurting him, a lot. It won't probably kill him if the cavalry gets here soon enough, but it's hurting him enough to break down. If I was to move and make a grab for my gun, he wouldn't even notice.  
  
The real question is, should I?  
  
I probably wouldn't think twice if I knew for sure that this boy would try to kill *me* but after our first spectacular stand-off, he certainly didn't show any will to kill me. And unfortunately, I'm beginning to think that shooting him now would make me feel incredibly crappy. It's not one of those justified killings...  
  
Justified killings.  
  
Am I a mass murderer?   
  
A bad question to be asking myself right now when I can't afford to be distracted by this kind of moral values crap. Certainly, I've killed my share of Jaffa and enemy soldiers who could or could not be innocent. A cliché, but it's kill or be killed, and I really would like to avoid the latter at all cost and...  
  
Why am I even debating this, with a sobbing Jaffa at my side and with my leg that's *still* bleeding? By default and training, I don't think about these things. Okay, I can't. There. I admit it. I can *not* think about these things, because it'll drive me nuts. Or...maybe I'm nuts already. But if I'm at the stage of wondering if I'm nuts, that means I'm not technically nuts, am I?  
  
...I've been around Daniel for way too long.  
  
Maybe that is the heart of my trouble. I've been around Daniel for way too long.  
  
The change of heart, Jack.  
  
I had ideals once. Maybe I still do.  
  
When Sara happened to me, I stepped out of the boundary of the ever-so-military man, and became something else, a family man. Then Charlie happened, and I stayed that way for a while, occasionally struggling between the military idealism of mine, and the pesky thing called happiness. My happiness was with my family.  
  
Then I lost them.  
  
After that, I guess I couldn't be anything else *but* military. I just didn't know how not to be. Then the 'Gate happened. That's when more subtle changes have begun. Not one of those abrupt, serious messed-ups, but something gradual and ongoing. Every mission changed you somehow, and I can't figure out how.  
  
You can at least *try* to figure it out, Jack.  
  
God, alright, alright! *Stop* scolding!  
  
Teal'c, the bravest man I've known, the one I'd trust with my life. Having a man like that in your life tends to lighten your views on things, I guess. Carter, the smartest person that I know of, the prettiest soldier I've ever met, the one I learned not to mess with. Or the good old General, the second father to all of us. And the Doc. Good old Doc who I absolutely admire, whether she's gonna kill me for ruining my kneecap or not.  
  
And there's Daniel.  
  
The thing is, I didn't even like the guy when I met him the first time. Why? Because I was freakin' jealous, that's why. This...dweeb in the tweed. He got to play innocent. He could come out smelling of roses, pretending he didn't have to have blood on his hands, wasn't touched by it. He could pursue his interest all he wanted, but he was never gonna get his hands dirty. Somebody gotta do the dirty work, so people like Daniel can go on thinking that the world is good, that everything could turn out just swell only through nice words and kind gestures. And that someone was bound to be me.  
  
When his wife got kidnapped and tried to kill him, when everything began to go downhill, he was supposed to change for the worse. He was supposed to snap out of it and face the reality that life sucked. Not so unlike what I did when life started chipping away at those ideals of mine.  
  
He didn't, though. This guy still had that belief, that insane idea, that everything would turn out peachy if he just said the word 'please' to everyone. He genuinely believed that, acted supremely recklessly, got into the mother of all the troubles, and still came out intact with his naive view of things. He stayed like that for a long, long time.  
  
And honestly, that annoyed me.  
  
Annoyed you? Drove you mad is more like it, Jack. What were you thinking, really, when his attempts after attempts to think nicely of the world failed? His methods sometimes worked, you give him that much, but the freakin' life that got you to here threw things at him too, and proved that you could never get out from life clean. And the one you see everyday at the base, your colleague, your friend, someone who thinks of you not as his greatest CO, but your friend first, always your friend first, wasn't getting out as clean as you thought he would. Were you happy, Jack?   
  
Was I happy?   
  
Was I happy when Daniel started to carry the sidearm all so naturally without a word of complaint? Was I happy when he started barking military tactics? When he began to lose his belief, bit by bit, without realizing it?  
  
Was I?  
  
No.  
  
He's still naive, no doubt about that. And as haggard it might be, he still has his belief. That belief, however, just like the idealism of mine, has gone through so many changes, I can't recognize it any more. But whereas mine has taken a turn to a slightly lighter side, his has dove into the darker part. It's like the longer he's with me, the darker things get for him. The longer I'm with him, the lighter and freakin' humanitarian I become.  
  
Where will this circle end? At the end, will I be afraid to look at my face in the mirror because of what I have done? I'm a simple guy. An action-oriented soldier. And I *really* don't like thinking much. But I, too, wonder. I wonder if I could've made things differently. Wonder if I'm a mess that cannot be cleaned up. Wonder if I'm a mass murderer. Wonder if I could've stopped Daniel from becoming another me...  
  
Voices.  
  
Suddenly I hear some voices from the cliff above me. I recognize the loudest one. ...Teal'c's. Holy crap! Can't believe this. They're here!  
  
There's a stir beside me. The Jaffa's head snapped up, instantly alert. His previously whipped expression is now gone as he tries to reach for his--shit!  
  
"Okay! Okay!" I yell, quickly reaching for the weapon too, just in case. "Let's not panic. Relax. Relax! Listen to me. *Listen*!" He doesn't want to, but he has to. I begin in the most calm, authoritative voice I can manage at this point, "Don't do anything stupid. If we think this through, we'll both get out of this alive. Both, alive, without getting killed. You wanna live? Do you?"  
  
He stares at me reluctantly, his hands are shaking badly, and he's clearly scared to death. The answer is yes. It's plainly written on his face. And that brings tremendous relief to me. I'd rather not be killed by a panicked, rather naive Jaffa boy who doesn't intend to kill me all that much.  
  
I'm about to slowly reach for his staff to move it away from him when there's a noise from the dark woods, and a figure jumps out from it, about twenty feet away from us.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
Oh shit. Daniel. And the Jaffa boy suddenly loses it. He's going for his weapon.  
  
Dammit, put it down, kiddo. The boy has his staff now, and aiming at Daniel with a look of pure terror. Put it down, kiddo. Put it down. I slowly reach for my gun, try to speak, "Hey, look--"  
  
...Dammit. Too late.  
  
These kinds of things don't happen in slow motion. These things happen in a fraction of a second and you don't know what hit you until you're lying dead. In this case, thankfully, Daniel isn't the one lying dead. And since I'm still thinking, guess I'm not lying dead either.  
  
But the boy is.  
  
From the periphery of my eyesight, I can see Daniel pushing himself up. When he automatically pulled the trigger at the Jaffa boy, he fell back, flinching like he always does when he shoots at something.  
  
Funny thing. The boy's actually still alive. He's whimpering and moaning, and since Daniel's a terrible shot, the boy's on the way to a slow and agonizing death.  
  
So what do I do?  
  
I grab my sidearm, and shoot him.  
  
Shouldn't have watched him when the bullet penetrated the skull between the alien blue eyes, but I did, and now I guess I'll be dreaming of this moment for weeks to come. Another nightmare to add to the collection.  
  
Am I sorry?  
  
Maybe.  
  
But really, I don't have the luxury of regret.  
  
Daniel rushes to my side, almost tripping on the way. "Jack, are you okay?" The relieved look on his face is rather touching, really.  
  
"Gotta work on your aim, Daniel," I say, trying to grin. "You just earned at least a week of practice with me."  
  
"Rrrrright." Daniel shook his head lightly, and tries to support me to sit up straight. "You're bleeding."  
  
"No shit, Sherlock. Okay, okay, stop right there," I scold at his effort to stop the bleeding, "Where's Carter? Even Teal'c would do the better job patching me up than you would."  
  
Daniel rolls his eyes. "You're more ungrateful than usual. They should've heard the gunshot. Should be here soon. In fact," he grins, his eyes on something above me. "Hey Teal'c!" he waves and shouts, "I found him!"  
  
"We're coming down!" The answering voice is Carter's.  
  
"Well, they're getting here soon," Daniel puts his arms around me, and tries his best to make me comfortable. "When Sam's here, you can whine all about getting a woman's touch."  
  
I can't even begin to think of a comeback for that. Now that I am saved, I realize I feel like crap, and every part of me hurts like hell. Daniel's curious searching eyes stop at the dead Jaffa boy, then on the chocolate wrapper he has on his lap.  
  
"Jack, did he... he...you...? I mean..." He frowns, unable to understand, "Isn't that...?"  
  
He's a smart guy. If he keeps thinking, he'll figure out two plus two by himself.  
  
Not this time. He doesn't have to. Sometimes the correct answer isn't the *right* answer.  
  
"Hey, you saved my life." I give him a pat on the shoulder and a half grin, which comes out as a grimace with the sharp pain in my leg. "Not with your aim, though, but with the chocolate bar thing. It's pretty good. He was too busy eating the damn thing to get around to finishing me off. I'm getting a dozen as soon as we get home."  
  
He looks puzzled for a second, but shakes it off. "Well, in that case," he grins, "I know this very good brand--"  
  
Deep down, he knows something isn't right, but he decides to believe me. He wants me to lie to him, tell him it's okay, that he did no wrong. So that's what I do. Because...  
  
Because somebody gotta do the dirty work.  
  
And I'd rather if Daniel isn't that somebody. I'm the one. Not Daniel. As long as I'm around, I'd like to spare Daniel doing the dirty work, building up the guilt inside him. After all, one of us is enough.  
  
The dead eyes, the ones that were filled with the bewilderment and shock that can only be seen from a man who was betrayed, won't haunt me. I'm not sorry.  
  
Teal'c and Carter make their ways through the woods, and I know the mission is over.  
  
"Let's go home."  
  
I'm not sorry.  
  
  
End  
06/03/01  



End file.
